


until you lose control

by ospreyx



Category: Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Clothed Sex, Guro, Knifeplay, M/M, Painplay, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:47:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23181178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ospreyx/pseuds/ospreyx
Summary: No matter how hard Genichiro tries, he always plays right into Wolf's hands.
Relationships: Genichiro Ashina/Sekiro | Wolf
Comments: 8
Kudos: 53





	until you lose control

**Author's Note:**

> this gets a little nasty, but that's the way i like it, so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> title came from [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=te3cTbX-LlA)

Genichiro caught the soft creak of the floorboards behind him before he heard Wolf say, “This will only take a moment, my lord.”

He straightened a bit, an odd coil of anticipation lurching in his gut as he heard the telltale hiss of a blade being unsheathed. He ignored the way Kuro brightened, looking past Genichiro to where Wolf no doubt stood brandishing Kusabimaru. The rejection was achingly bitter, sharp and unpleasant as if he had bitten into tin, and annoyingly enough, Wolf finally appearing made it worse.

Genichiro waited for Emma to whisk Kuro away before he turned to face Wolf. He couldn’t stop the small, incredulous laugh that left him at the prosthetic he saw fixed to Wolf’s left bicep; of course the bastard would return from the dead with a stunning replacement.

A moment. Just a single, breathtaking moment, where Genichiro wondered if he would take Wolf’s other arm this time. A fantasy, if he would, because it wasn’t that easy.

It was never that easy. Not with Wolf.

As much as Genichiro hated to admit it, Wolf was flawless. Even with a prosthetic, even with the obvious difference in the way he shifted his weight and relied heavily on his right side, Wolf was still strikingly perfect. It wasn’t downplayed by the failed deflections, the blood that spattered across the floorboards, the first two deaths that carried out surprisingly quickly.

If anything, that made it more obvious.

Genichiro wasn’t a fool for thinking that this encounter would be any easier than the last. What made him a fool was that he took every inklet of bait that Wolf tossed out to him. At first, he wasn’t certain what it felt like, but eventually, he recognized it; it didn’t feel like a fight.

It felt like a game, of sorts.

Genichiro struggled not to snap and snarl like a dog when Wolf raised his katana a second too late to deflect a blow aimed at his chest. He stumbled backwards, the groan that rose in his throat wet and guttural, cutting itself short as Genichiro kicked him backwards against the floorboards.

“I don’t care how many times I have to cut you down.” Genichiro drew an arrow. Even standing above Wolf, bowstring pulled taut and arrowhead aimed at Wolf’s heart, he didn’t feel particularly powerful. Wolf merely stared up at him, seemingly disinterested. He clicked his tongue. “Dozens, hundreds, even thousands - I’ll keep you pinned to the dirt where you belong.”

Wolf had the audacity to look faintly amused. “That is all you would do to me, Lord Genichiro?”

Something light danced in his tone, barely there, equally beguiling as it was aggravating. Somehow, watching the light fade from Wolf’s eyes before he jerked back awake wasn’t satisfying.

Nothing about killing Wolf was satisfying. 

There had only been a shaky handful of times that Genichiro had watched Wolf in the midst of battle. He’d seen it years ago, before the shock of gray at Wolf’s temple had grown so large, before he lost his father. Every movement he made was enthralling - every swipe, every deflection, every thrown kunai that seemed to always find its way home in the enemy’s throat. 

Wolf was an enticing figure, a dangerous thing, one that Genichiro had only been lucky to see work outside the safety of the shadows. And, once upon a time, had been lucky to meet outside of the battlefield and in the privacy of his own quarters.

That had been so long ago. He wasn’t sure what happened since then.

Their blades collided and stilled, screeching out into the late afternoon, trembling where they both held a tentative standstill. Genichiro faltered for a moment, conscious of the way Wolf’s eyes followed him, blown wide and scrutinizing every movement he made. He jumped away with another grating hiss of scraping metal.

Genichiro felt too warm, too breathless, too _frantic_. Wolf had a way of doing that - of picking him apart and tearing him down, each failed deflection and choked noise a deliberate act. Nothing was satisfying about the blood that smeared over his katana or the way Wolf’s skin broke like rice paper under his blade.

He slammed his elbow into Wolf’s nose, his ears ringing with the loud crack and splatter that accompanied it. Wolf doubled over at the fist that connected with his abdomen, but Genichiro only grabbed a cruel handful of his hair and tugged him back upright. He was breathing hard, from anger and enervation alike, eyes hungrily following the smooth flow of blood that dripped past Wolf’s chin.

Wolf stilled as Genichiro pressed his blade against his exposed throat. There was a thick, heady allure to how debauched Wolf looked - cheeks flushed now, chest heaving while he kept his throat bared, his grip weak where they scrabbled at the hand in his hair. Genichiro’s grip trembled precariously on the hilt of his blade.

It would be easy to slit Wolf’s throat, to wipe away the faintest hints of amusement that still somehow shone in his eyes, but that wasn’t what Genichiro wanted. His gaze trailed down to Wolf’s outstretched neck, then lower still, to the obi that was tied tightly around his waist, the shitagi that already held the faintest pink stains, the haori that he’d never seen Wolf work without.

Genichiro bit his lip. Gods, Wolf was so _small._

He could press closer, back Wolf into the nearest wall and pin him there, just to feel the full-body shiver that would accompany the languid press of his lips to Wolf’s skin. He doubted there would be any protests. But as gratifying as that would be, it still wouldn’t be what he wanted.

Genichiro didn’t know _what_ he wanted.

Wolf huffed out something that resembled a laugh. It was unclear whether it was an entertained or derisive sound.

“Stop toying with me,” Genichiro hissed.

With a small grin, Wolf countered, “Stop letting me.”

Genichiro slid his blade across Wolf’s throat, leaving a thick, glistening ribbon in its wake. He stepped back, an arm coming up to shield himself from the blood that spurted forth. He heard Wolf crumple to the ground before he saw it - his vision blurred, stained an ugly red, fierce and vicious and intoxicating for the first few seconds before he caught himself.

As much as he hated to admit it, Wolf was right. He took a deep breath, his head spinning at the heady mix of copper and sakura that bled through the atmosphere. Wolf stood once more, that infuriating grin back on his lips, disappearing behind the hand that came up to wipe at the blood at his nostrils. He was as pristine as always - smeared red, at least, but the unnatural angle of his broken nose righted itself and the slit in his throat faded into nothing.

Genichiro wished they wouldn’t.

The following attacks were deflected, every sweep countered, each arrow that pierced through the air evaded like they were nothing. Genichiro hated that - hated how perfect Wolf was, even after allowing himself to die, even after he drained the healing waters of his gourd. Everything Wolf did was splendid; every move he made was sublime.

It was hard not to get distracted. 

What Genichiro hated more than a spurious win was how much he still wanted Wolf.

And finally, Genichiro caught Wolf with a thrust that pierced through his abdomen. He didn’t aim to kill, but maybe that was what Wolf was waiting for. The groan that left Wolf’s lips was infuriatingly alluring - he halted, hunched forwards over the blade, fingers curling gingerly over the considerable length of steel that had yet to impale him. 

Genichiro recognized the heavy look Wolf gave him. He snarled out, “Is this what you wanted, mutt?”

Although Wolf’s expression remained impassive, something akin to amusement shone in his eyes. “Took you long enough.”

He spoke lightly, as if he’d genuinely gotten something he wanted. As if this was a game, dragging on for a painstakingly long time until he finally took pity and threw the match. Only Wolf was bold enough to toy with him, to tease him, to make him an absolute fool.

Genichiro grit his teeth. Wolf was the only person to let him win. The only one to purposely lose, time and time again, and yet he still struggled. 

He still had to work for it.

Genichiro shoved forwards, harsh enough to sink another few inches of steel into Wolf’s abdomen. He caught the faint moan amidst the squelch of tearing flesh, and despite how badly he wanted to tear Wolf to pieces, it still brought a thick curl of arousal in the pit of his stomach. The sight of his katana buried in Wolf’s flesh should have made him feel powerful; he should have felt victorious, should have preened at the small well of crimson that frothed at the corners of Wolf’s mouth.

Yet with how Wolf’s knees trembled, dragging them both down until Wolf was settled in his lap, Genichiro knew this was exactly what he wanted. And despite the white-hot fury that made his blood boil, he couldn’t deny that this was what he wanted, as well.

Wanted Wolf in his lap, hands trembling and thighs twitching. Wanted to dig his teeth into his neck until he saw red, reach into the tear and yank until something spilled. Wanted to hold him down, make him keen, make him _cry_.

Genichiro twisted the blade. Wolf slacked for a moment, eyes fluttering shut, the moan that forced its way out of his throat rough and obscene.

He wanted to fuck this man until he _shattered._

With a hand on Wolf’s hip, Genichiro guided him closer, fascinated with how willingly he followed the movement and ground their clothed dicks together. Wolf rolled his hips, slow and sinuous, eyes hazy where they glanced downwards. Genichiro wasn’t sure if Wolf was watching the enticing grind of their hips or the steel that protruded from his abdomen.

His free hand settled on Genichiro’s shoulder, the grip soft, weak. Wolf had always been a delicate thing - small and lithe, more obvious now than ever. His breaths were a deathly rattle in his chest, hitching when he ground down harder, faster, more deliberate than before. The fingers around Genichiro’s blade tightened, and faintly, he felt the pressure of a small, tentative tug.

Genichiro ached to just retract it. Remove it at an odd angle that would leave a yawning trench in its wake.

Instead, he grabbed Wolf’s scarf and yanked him forwards. Wolf let go of the blade to grasp at Genichiro’s other shoulder, a broken noise leaving him as the last few inches finally sunk into his flesh to the hilt. Their mouths slotted together, as pleasantly languid as the grind of Wolf’s hips against him. Genichiro tasted blood and candy on his lips.

It was disgustingly divine.

Wolf was remarkably fragile when he wasn’t in battle. It hardly took any effort for Genichiro to lift him with an arm pressed to his lower back, halting only to remove the katana. An odd noise left Wolf’s lips, somewhere between a groan and a keen, before he was unceremoniously thrown down against the floorboards.

Genichiro settled between Wolf’s thighs before he withdrew the rest of the blade. It dislodged with a gratifying spurt of blood, melting into Wolf’s already ruined shitagi, the smear of it left to dry on his katana as he set it aside. He knew he was throwing caution to the wind, but with how Wolf’s fingers hooked eagerly onto the hem of his hakama, breaths shallow and uneven, he doubted it was all that necessary. 

He also had half the mind to set his bow aside before Wolf pulled him into another kiss. The tang of copper on Wolf’s tongue was intoxicating, almost more so than the smooth, artificial fingers that frantically tugged the string of his hakama loose. Genichiro grabbed at the wrist and wrenched it away, hearing it creak, its clatter against the wood deafening when he pinned it above Wolf’s head.

Wolf chased after him when he broke away from the kiss. Genichiro shoved him back down with a hand around his throat. Wolf latched onto his wrist, but that only made him dig his fingers in harder. He relished in the guttural noise that left Wolf’s lips.

“You’re in no position to be so demanding,” Genichiro murmured. He bucked his hips forwards, eliciting a soft, wordless sound. “Or did you forget?”

He let go of his hold on Wolf’s prosthetic. Immediately, it joined the other hand higher up on his forearm, but it wasn’t a show of resistance. Genichiro would carry on forever if he could, leisurely rolling his hips against Wolf, but it would do nothing to soothe his ache. 

The ache between his thighs, the ache in his chest, the ache that settled in the pit of his stomach when he heard Wolf say, “Lord Genichiro.”

It was small, pathetic, barely gasped out despite how hazy his gaze had become. At least for a small while, Genichiro could enjoy this - how easily Wolf had succumbed to him. By choice, of course, because he wasn’t a fool. As much as he loathed to admit it, Wolf had allowed him to get this far.

Whatever semblance of control there was, he wasn’t sure if he wanted it.

But what he did want was Wolf. Wolf, panting weakly when he finally released his hold, looking dazedly down at where Genichiro’s hands had dropped to undo his obi and tug his shitagi loose. Wolf, so delightfully wrecked, with his haori eventually removed and the fabric of his shitagi parted wide down the middle. 

Genichiro stopped to focus on the clean slit of the wound that glistened wetly on Wolf’s skin. He couldn’t stop the fingertips that reached out to run along the short length of it, smearing the blood there, the scent of copper and sakura thick, heady. He delved his fingers into the wound. His cock ached at the way Wolf jerked and choked back a moan.

“Please,” Wolf gasped out.

Genichiro pressed harder into the wet heat of him. It felt like silk, almost, lapping over his fingers, slicking them in the most sinful way. Wolf’s thighs trembled from where they had been thrown wide over Genichiro’s hips. 

“I could tear you to pieces and you’d return for more,” Genichiro murmured. He withdrew his fingers and watched how the remaining blood trailed over his knuckles, reaching up to press them against Wolf’s lips. His breath shuddered at the tongue that darted out to lick. “Disgusting.”

“Revolting,” Wolf agreed. “But you enjoy that.”

Genichiro couldn’t find it in himself to deny it.

He allowed Wolf a moment to reach for his haori, pawing impatiently at it, until he emerged with a vial of oil. It was satisfying, how pliant Wolf was under his hands, how responsive he eventually became once Genichiro’s slicked fingers pushed against his entrance. His hakama had been shoved aside, still hanging on to one leg, almost laid bare while Genichiro had yet to even undo his clothing far enough to pull his cock out.

There was something empowering in that, oddly enough.

Wolf didn’t complain, at least, but Genichiro doubted he ever would.

It was hard not to grow too impatient when Wolf writhed around his fingers. Brows knit, hips stuttering, bucking up into nothing. With how easily Wolf took him in, it was hard to believe Wolf had any other plans in mind, any other intentions after the first deliberate death.

“You could have just asked,” Genichiro pointed out, “but that wasn’t your goal, was it?” He palmed himself through his hakama and held his breath at the harsh, gratifying drag of it. “What were you looking for?”

“A battle,” Wolf said. That same defiant amusement was back in his eyes when he added, “though you turned it into a game.”

Wolf flinched at the hard smack across his cheek. His head snapped back to Genichiro, pupils blown wide, his cheeks burning hotter than they already did. Genichiro shoved his fingers in deeper, pleased with how Wolf jerked at the action.

“Answer me.”

He pulled out, pressing a third finger back in, watching as Wolf arched his back and hissed. Although he itched to hear Wolf’s response, he remained patient; he relished in the display beneath him, Wolf panting and writhing around his fingers an exquisitely lovely sight. He crooked his fingers upwards, feeling inexplicably warm at the soft moan that Wolf didn’t stifle in time.

“Want you,” Wolf started. His voice caught, then faltered entirely. 

He was gnawing at his lip, clinging to Genichiro’s haori like he depended on it, averting his eye as if it pained him to admit it. His breath was baited, alluding that there was more to the confession, more that he couldn’t find the strength to get out. Genichiro withdrew his fingers entirely. 

“To do what, shinobi?”

Wolf bit back a feeble noise at the sudden press of Genichiro’s cock to his entrance. His hands settled on Wolf’s thighs, spreading him wide, heart pounding in his throat at the way Wolf shamelessly pressed down against him. He was needy, impatient, _desperate_ when he would never be otherwise.

At the smooth, exquisite slide inward, Wolf finally admitted, “Want you to tear me apart.”

Genichiro ground forwards, stopping only when his hips pressed flush against Wolf. He halted for a moment, the tight, velvety heat around his cock absolutely _divine_ , pressing deep enough to force the air out of Wolf’s lungs. He inevitably brought his fingertips back to the wound that still wept on Wolf’s abdomen.

“Then let me,” Genichiro said, a demand more than a request.

Wolf bit his lip. He reached out for his discarded haori, and Genichiro allowed him, hands gripping tightly over the thighs that quaked at his sides. What Wolf pressed into his chest next was a surprise, but it wasn’t unwelcome; he found himself presented with a tanto, its hilt wrapped in leather, the curve of it enticingly lethal.

Genichiro accepted the tanto. Wolf bucked his hips, sounding positively wrecked when he whispered, “Please.”

As if he could say no.

Genichiro ached in a way he never had before. There was something so visceral about the sheer _want_ that reared up in his mind, in his chest, in his hips - wanting nothing more than to dig the tanto in, to grind and twist it until something snapped and spilled. His first thrust into Wolf was mind-numbing, and soon, he was lost to the feeling, his pace slow and languid while he raised the blade to Wolf’s chest.

He knew, realistically, that any marks he made would fade upon the next resurrection. That bothered him more than it had the right to, and yet still, he craved to mark Wolf. Bruise him, bleed him, leave him with an ache that only they would share. That only they would know.

What a revoltingly splendid thought.

The edge of the tanto traced ominous patterns along Wolf’s skin, and Wolf followed the movement, seeming both anticipatory and apprehensive. Curiously, Genichiro dug hard enough to break skin, tracing the faint outline of a scar that curved over Wolf’s rib.

Wolf _shuddered_. Genichiro yearned desperately to feel it again.

It was intoxicating, watching the thick, deep droplets of crimson well and weep down into Wolf’s shitagi. Genichiro raised the tanto until it rest on Wolf’s chest, dragging a searing line down, down, _down_ until the tip of the blade reached the existing wound on Wolf’s abdomen. He caught the edge of it and tugged.

Wolf arched his back into the touch. Needy, so needy, and Genichiro wanted nothing more than to bury the tanto into his heart.

“Genichiro.” The lack of any honorifics didn’t bother Genichiro as much as it should have. His grip trembled on the hilt of the tanto. “More.”

They both wanted more.

More, until Wolf had nothing left to give. Until Genichiro had nothing left to take.

Genichiro shoved the tanto into the wound that his katana had left behind. Wolf gasped out, clenching hard around him, sending a flash of white-hot pleasure searing through his hips. Blood welled around the tanto until it finally spilled, trailing smoothly down along Wolf’s skin. Genichiro felt the way Wolf’s hands scratched and scrambled for purchase at his haori, but not once did he reach down to dislodge the tanto.

It was immensely gratifying, how acquiescent Wolf had finally become.

Genichiro bent forwards over Wolf, burying himself deeper, a sigh rushing past his lips. This close, he could feel Wolf’s tremulous breaths on his skin, and against his lower abdomen, the harsh bump of the tanto’s leathery hilt. With the next thrust, he pressed against the tanto.

Wolf whined in a way Genichiro hadn't heard before.

Genichiro fucked into him with his face shoved into the crook of his neck, breaths hot on Wolf’s skin, cock throbbing at every sharp tug at his hair. He soon yanked Wolf’s hands away, pinning them above his head, grip fastened over Wolf’s wrists. He felt Wolf’s fingers tapping against his, waiting, wanting.

As much as Genichiro wanted that vulnerability, that moment of fond sentiment, he refused to let himself have it. Refused to let Wolf take that from him, too.

Wolf rolled his hips in time with Genichiro’s thrusts, faltering only when a particularly hard press inwards forced a gasp out of them both. The next kiss was clumsy, messy, but mesmerizing all the same. It was as lovely as it was disgusting - copper heavy on Genichiro’s tongue, sakura thick in his nostrils, the heat pooling in the pit of his abdomen until he couldn’t hold it together any longer.

They came together, Wolf trembling terribly, Genichiro muffling his moan with his teeth in Wolf’s neck. He bit down hard, leaving a mark he knew would take days to fade in normal circumstances, releasing only once Wolf let out a sound remarkably close to a sob. Slowly, he pulled himself upright, still buried deep inside Wolf, pressed as close as he could for a long while before he had to let go. 

Before Wolf eluded him once more.

Genichiro admired his work; Wolf’s clothing disheveled and stained crimson, skin bruised and torn, his eyes growing increasingly dim as the seconds passed. Clumsily, as if he was only dimly aware of what he was doing, Wolf’s hand fitted around the hilt of the tanto and wrenched it out. He fell still with a soft noise in his throat.

Finally, Genichiro slipped out of Wolf, allowing himself a moment to press his thumb against Wolf’s slicked entrance before he cleaned himself up and stood. It would be difficult to get the blood out of his clothes, but that didn’t bother him as much as it should have. 

What bothered him was the way Wolf’s skin mended itself. What bothered him was that, in just a few surreal moments, every mark, every bit of evidence of Genichiro’s claim on Wolf would be gone. He watched, with an odd sink in his gut, as each cut faded, as each bruise dimmed, as the teeth marks at Wolf’s neck slowly disappeared.

But then again, Genichiro never did have a claim over Wolf. Not before. Not after. Not when there was nothing left on Wolf’s skin besides the lovely smears of red. It became hard to breathe.

The air was thick with sakura.

Genichiro readied his katana once Wolf lifted himself on shaky knees. He painstakingly waited for Wolf to pull himself together, to hide his stained, yet flawless skin from Genichiro once more. There was something different about Wolf’s expression - some odd mix of hurt and satisfaction alike.

It faded once he popped a small candy into his mouth and assumed the proper stance.

It wasn’t long until Genichiro was on his knees with Kusabimaru buried in his chest. He looked up at Wolf, who regarded him with that same impassive expression, hands steady where they held the blade in place, Genichiro’s blood smeared over his cheek. Lightning flashed above them, somewhere deep in the murky clouds, shining brightly in Wolf’s eyes.

Genichiro was angry, but at who, he couldn’t say.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hello to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/ospreyxxx) ✨


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